I feel a bit stupid, sitting here, staring at my keyboard, wondering how to begin a post about beginnings. But maybe that’s the way it should be. Because writing beginnings is hard work. Well, let me rephrase that—writing good beginnings is hard work. That’s probably why this beginning sucks. Because I didn’t really work all that hard at it. I’d apologize, but I’m on a tight schedule and don’t have time to be sorry.
Sorry.
Anyway, I don’t know about you, but I love it when I pick up a book and the first few lines pull me so completely into the story that I know I’m in for a journey I won’t soon forget. The opening provides the author’s promise of great things to come.
Wendy Mass made me a promise about a month ago. But actually it wasn’t only one promise. It was three. And all three promises came from her novel Every Soul a Star.
No, I didn’t reread the opening paragraph three times. At least if I did, that’s not what I’m talking about. Wendy Mass made three promises because she wrote three beginnings, choosing to tell her story from the perspectives of three different kids—Ally, Bree, and Jack. Each of them gets his or her very own Chapter 1. Let’s look at the three beginnings and consider how they manage to make such great promises to the reader.
Chapter 1: Ally
In Iceland, fairies live inside of rocks. Seriously. They have houses in there and schools and amusement parks and everything.
Besides me, not many people outside of Iceland know this. But you just have to read the right books and it’s all there. When you’re homeschooled . . .
Chapter 1: Bree
I was switched at birth.
There’s no other explanation for how I wound up in this family. My physicist parents are certified geniuses with, like, a zillion IQ points between them and all these grants to study things like dark matter and anti-matter, which are apparently very different things. . . .
Chapter 1: Jack
My father has no head.
Well, of course he HAS one, but I’ve never seen it. All I’ve seen is about a hundred photos of the rest of his body. . . .
These could be the beginnings to three different books, and I’d want to read all three of them. That’s because each beginning makes a tremendous promise, giving a glimpse into a character who will drive the story forward.
In each beginning, the point of view is clear, and the presence of voice is hard to miss. Reread those three beginnings. It doesn’t require much imagination to hear each character speaking to you. But these openings provide more than clear points of view and engaging voice. They also reveal just enough characterization and plot that I’m compelled to keep reading.
Ally? She seems to believe some strange things. Plus, I learn she’s homeschooled.
Bree? She’s got, like, that slightly ditzy way of talking, and she, like, doesn’t seem to think she’s too smart compared to her parents.
And Jack? For some reason, his dad’s out of the picture. Literally.
So when you’re working to craft the perfect beginning to your story, look closely at your opening lines. Do they establish the point of view? A believable voice? Do they provide a hint of your characterization and plot? If so, you’ve probably crafted a great beginning. And once you’ve made a promise like that, you might as well keep writing.
There are so many wonderful middle-grade books that I hope will remain timeless. One that I believe will be around for a long time is Rules, by Cynthia Lord. It’s the kind of book that stays with you long after you reach the last page. I’ll never forget when my younger daughter lost her voice, and her big sister created a communication book (inspired by the one Jason uses).
